


To the world!

by WhiteWolvesHuntAlone



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel/Demon Relationship, Angst, Aziraphale's Bookshop, Black Bentley, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Fluff, Drunk Crowley (Good Omens), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Ineffable Idiots (Good Omens), Love Confessions, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Mild Smut, Mutual Pining, POV Multiple, Pining Aziraphale (Good Omens), Pining Crowley (Good Omens), Post-Finale, Travel, Wing Grooming
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-18
Updated: 2019-07-18
Packaged: 2020-06-28 07:38:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 12,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19807720
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WhiteWolvesHuntAlone/pseuds/WhiteWolvesHuntAlone
Summary: After successfully preventing the apocalypse, Aziraphale and Crowley are now spending their time together in-between the bookshop and the greenhouse. Both the angel and the demon are very much enjoying their newly-won freedom from their respective head-offices. But, after keeping each other company for an eternity and a half, they start to think that they may have been taking things... a little too slowly.





	1. Spread Your Wings

> « To the world » , Crowley had sighed, raising his glass to his best friend. His angel. His world.  
>  Aziraphale had picked up his own glass and completed the toast. The air around them had felt warm, warmer than usual, and when their glasses had touched, a heavenly clank had been heard.  
>  The angel had felt the corners of his mouth tug up in admiration, forming a tranquil and peaceful smile. « To the world. »

That evening had been, even by celestial, eternal standards, something special. After all, it did not occur all too often that an angel and a demon would sit together in a noble restaurant, celebrating their joint victory in stopping the end of the world and all things on it (including, but not limited to, noble restaurants). It had also been something special, at least as far as Crowley was concerned, because it had been on that fateful evening that he had, for what felt like the first time, truly noticed the perfect curve of his angel's eyelashes, and just how outstandingly soft Aziraphale's eyes really were. The twitch that he had felt in his chest that evening, he had done his best to ignore, burying it deep under sarcastic comments about the Antichrist and other everyday topics.

Now, he was sitting on the largest couch in Aziraphale's bookshop, pretending to read a book on astrophysics while really watching his angel best friend pace up and down a bookshelf in search of a copy of Nice Signs by Pratter and Gayle, a recently much sought-after piece of fiction. « It has to be here somewhere » , Crowley heard the angel mutter under his breath, « where else could I possibly have put it? » Watching Aziraphale struggle to stand on his tiptoes in an attempt to catch a glimpse of the highest row of books made a little demonic smirk appear on our friend's face.

At that very moment, Aziraphale tripped over something and nearly crashed into the next shelf. He quietly cleared his throat and bent down to inspect what had caused the little accident. « Crowley » , the angel said, turning towards his best friend, who was making a ridiculous attempt at feigning surprise, « I'm rather sure this book wasn't at my feet just a minute ago. » « I have no idea what you're talking about » , Crowley replied cheerfully and with a cheeky wink. « Hm, alright » , Aziraphale pretended to give in. He bent down to safely store the book away, before making his way towards the sofa and taking a seat next to his friend. Aziraphale lifted his arm to drape it across the demon's shoulder, and after a while, said: « It's 8 already. I'm going to close for tonight. But you should stay. We could watch a movie. » Crowley hoped that his face wasn't actually as flushed as it felt. « Nah, angel » , he declined, trying to sound apologetic although he feared he might just be giving off the impression that he was bored. « I'm afraid my petunias wouldn't make the night without some watering. Couldn't really find the time to do it, with the apocalypse going on and all that, you know? » Crowley stood up, wiped the dust off his blazer and pants, and made for the exit.

He was already halfway through the door when Aziraphale called him back. « I have builders over next week. You know, because of the cracks on the ceiling » , he said and gestured vaguely upwards, his lips forming a soft smile. « And I have to close for the entire week. » The angel buried his hands in the pockets of his coat and coughed silently. « I thought maybe we could... I don't know... go on a trip or something? » Crowley noticed his angel's eyebrows furrow, as they usually only tended to do when he was nervous. The renovation works really had to be giving Aziraphale anxiety, Crowley concluded worriedly. « Of course, angel. I'm free Monday to Friday. Just choose anything, and give me a call when you've booked » , he requested, patting Aziraphale's shoulder lightly. A warm smile appeared on the fair man's face. « Alright » , he chimed, « so long then! » And with that— Crowley was already out the door— Aziraphale let out a long sigh he had been holding in ever since his fallen angel had entered the bookshop two hours ago.

Without hurry, our fair angel made his way towards his suite on the second floor of the bookshop. He had left the door ajar, and through the crack he made out that his laptop was on and laying on his duvet, as if it had willingly positioned itself for use. With a cheerful motion, he jumped onto his bed and opened the browser. As Aziraphale clicked the link to an online travelling agency, he began to ponder on potential destinations. « Somewhere warm or somewhere cold? » , the angel hummed to himself, excitement about going on holiday with his best friend creeping up on him. He tried to picture Crowley in bathing trunks, sipping a cocktail with a tiny ombrelle in it; the mental image alone was enough to settle the question once and for all. After a few more clicks, he had booked them an early 7am-flight, leaving on Monday for the _delighting beaches of Barcelona,_ and a double-room in a homely little hotel because _spending Heaven's money on the lavishness of two separate rooms is just not something Aziraphale could justify._ Selfcontently, our friend lay the laptop aside and stared up at the ceiling.

After a while, the angel began wondering to himself when this had all begun. He remembered always having been fond of Crowley, and that fondness never ceasing even after Crowley's fall. Aziraphale then recalled growing closer to his counterpart over the many years that they had spent together on Earth, during which they had both worked at laying their differences aside. But when exactly this to an angel natural feeling of warm-heartedness had turned into painfully unrequited pining, Aziraphale found difficult to tell. All he knew was that, for as long as he could remember, he had always seen good in his fallen angel that other angels didn't seem to notice. Crowley was a demon, granted, but Aziraphale hadn't had to dig too far under the hardened shell to reveal a deeply caring soul – well, not soul, demons didn't have those, but you get the point. Not that it mattered in the least. Not even a naturally positive nature such as his could pretend that Crowley had anything but platonic feelings for him. Maybe it was better that way, Aziraphale thought. « Angel, demon... Probably explode » , he had once said to his best friend. Granted, it had been in the context of inhabiting his body, not going on a date with him. Still, the angel felt that it was a fitting summary of why him and Crowley just couldn't be.

« Alright, pull yourself together » , Aziraphale scolded himself out of his daydreams. He reached for his mobile phone and rang his best friend with the aim of telling him to find a... _plantsitter_ ( _babysitter for plants, sounds funnier than 'neighbour',_ _why do I feel the need to justify it?, Aziraphale grumpily asked out loud);_ because him and his lovely demon were going to Barcelona!


	2. Lily of the Valley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH. MY. GOD.  
> 2 bookmarks!  
> You guys are the BEST!!!  
> I feel a lot of pressure on myself now - ha! That will motivate me to write an even better story (hopefully)!
> 
> (And just so you know: yes, I do intend for you to listen to the songs referenced by the chapter titles, I spend quite some time finding the perfect song for each chapter ^^)

His petunias, indeed, looked more than a little battered when Crowley stepped in front of them to examine their petals. Nonetheless, they were in no way comparable to the state his lilies-of-the-valley were in. The blooms were shriveled like decade-old banknotes, and they had given up their natural purple colouring in favour of a sickly pinkish tone. Crowley inhaled sharply. « How. Dare. You? » He banged his fist on the desk and the lilies-of-the-valley trembled, partly from the impact and partly with fear. Their dreaded obliteration didn't follow only because the demon had, after his outburst of anger, sunk to the floor and pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes. A single, suppressed sob sent a shudder through Crowley's limbs. « Damn it! » , he cursed through clenched teeth, « God– Satan– someone, damn it! » His left hand clang to the desk leg, and he watched his knuckles turn white through tear-filled eyes. Quickly, with a hand motion that was filled with shame, he wiped the tears away. Crowley thought about how ridiculous he had to be looking; a demon sunk to the floor of his dusky house, crying about his unrequited feelings for an angel. Of course, the one-sidedness wasn't new to him; Crowley had known Aziraphale for six thousand years, and for almost all of them, he had been in love with his enemy, later colleague, and finally, best friend. But it was only since the Armageddon-that-never-was that he and Aziraphale didn't have to meet under the guise of 'cancelling each other out' anymore. Now, it was up to himself to crush these newly arisen false hopes, Crowley thought bitterly, before his angel had to.

Crowley groaned and pulled himself to his feet again, only to let himself sink into the soft leather of his office chair. He knew that rationally, he ought to cancel his holiday plans with Aziraphale. He could pretend that he had been offered a job _(even though he was a demon, he had started to feel that it was a more correct way of getting hold of money than just miracling his bank account full),_ or lie that he was on babysitting duty for Adam and his friends. He had regretted agreeing to Aziraphale's plans ever since he had left the bookshop, and yet hadn't thought about calling them off once. The temptation to run away for a week with his angel best friend was too strong, even for a demon like Crowley. _Right._ He angrily blinked the tears away. He really should get to watering his plants.

Just as Crowley was filling up the watering pot, the landline rang. He guessed it was Aziraphale; it was also possible that any of the Them were calling, or perhaps Anathema, or Newton, but Crowley's guess was right. It usually was. The demon bit his lower lip. After a few seconds, he picked up the phone. « Hello. » On the other end of the line, his angel's harmonic voice returned the greeting: « Crowley, it's me, Aziraphale. Are you busy? » « Not particularly, no » , Crowley replied, running a hand through his hair. « How are your plants doing? » , Aziraphale queried, evidently making small talk. The demon sighed deeply. « Not too well, but thanks anyways, angel. Why are you calling, again? » He heard a low chuckle. « Ah, yes » , the caller said, « I just called to tell you I've booked us a flight on Monday, 7 in the morning, to Barcelona. Double-room. It was the only kind of room left. Real inrush of tourists right now, this time of the year. » Outside Aziraphale's window, the last rays of the cool October sun bathed the bookshop in golden light. It's a sight Crowley would have hated to admit that he enjoyed; fortunately, he was spared this unpleasantry since his blinds, as per usual, were down. _Double-room,_ it echoed in his head. _Right. «_ Thanks, Aziraphale, for taking care of that. » « No problem » , his angel chirped cheerfully. « Oh, and one more thing » , he added quickly, « don't forget to ask a neighbour to take care of your flowers while you're gone. Don't want them drying up while you're sipping tropical cocktails, do you? » Crowley pressed his lips together, trying to keep his voice as steady as possible. He wasn't sure he was succeeding. « Alright. See you at breakfast » , he reminded Aziraphale of their weekly Saturday rendezvous at the cornershop café. Not that Aziraphale could ever forget. « Perfect. So long » , the angel hummed, and the clicking sound told Crowley that the other had hung up the phone.

His limbs felt strangely heavy, and Crowley moved around his greenhouse more slowly than usual. He started by watering his lilies-of-the-valley, and felt a curious sense of relief when the leaves eventually stopped trembling. After he finished watering the mimosas in the far back of the room, the demon, instead of returning to his office, took a seat on the black marble tiles that formed a path through his garden. Surrounded by the tranquility of his plants, Crowley sat there for he-didn't-know-how-long, and eventually his breathing normalised and the tears on his cheeks dried up.


	3. You're My Best Friend

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, wondrous thing called internet censorship...  
> I'm in China here, and I can't even use WhatsApp because it's banned by the government;  
> But AO3 miraculously works!!!  
> I was prepared to type this thing on my phone notes and copy paste it once I'm back, but alas!  
> The government appears not yet to have reached these depths of the internet! Ha!

At a quarter past seven, a quarter of an hour early, Aziraphale entered the small café and took a seat at one of the tables for two at the far back of the room. As per usual, the angel's appearance in public bore something curious; to every normal person born after the turn of the 20th century, his clothes looked old-fashioned, and too much so to even be _considered_ a normal 'vintage' style. Also as per usual, other people's stares didn't bother Aziraphale one bit.

Instead, he was preoccupied with thinking about his phonecall with Crowley. With a heavy heart, he remembered how his dark angel's voice had sounded on the phone; it had been shaky, and he had seemed very much upset. Aziraphale suspected an incident involving Crowley's plants. And yet, he felt an unnerving suspicion that there might be something entirely different afoot that he, Aziraphale, had failed to pick up on. To think that his friend might be in pain sent a shudder of fury through Aziraphale's body. _Alright, deep breaths_ , he tried to calm himself down. _I'll simply talk to Crowley when he arrives. Yes, I'll do exactly that..._

At that very moment, the door to the café opened and let in a cool breeze, followed by an equally cool man in burgundy sunglasses and a matching suit. With large strides, Crowley approached the table Aziraphale was seated at and waved languidly at him. « Good morning, angel » , he greeted Aziraphale with an air of nonchalance. Aziraphale rose to his feet, warmly returned the greeting and drew out the chair opposite him. « Sorry that I'm late » , Crowley apologised, albeit not quite meaning it. A glance at his own watch told his best friend that the demon was hardly more than five minutes tardy. What it didn't tell him was that Crowley had stood in front of the café for almost ten minutes so as to not seem too punctual. « Don't worry, » Aziraphale chirped, « besides, I'm used to it. » He offered Crowley a wink. Crowley's heart fluttered in his chest at the sight, and the floor seemed to suddenly sway beneath him. He pressed his heels firmly into the wooden flooring.

Thankfully, at that very moment, a waitress arrived at their table. « Good morning, Sirs, may I take your order? » , the young blonde asked merrily. Aziraphale watched her carefully eye Crowley up and down. The angel forced his lips to form a polite smile and turned towards the girl. « I'll have an espresso and a cream cheese bagel with it, thank you » , he said rather loudly, as if to direct her attention away from his friend and towards him. The waitress took a quick note of his order. « For me, a croque-monsieur and another espresso » , Crowley added, deliberately in his worst French accent. He suppressed a giggle when Aziraphale rolled his eyes at him.

The waitress nodded briefly and thereupon disappeared from their sight again. Aziraphale seized the opportunity; his gaze sought Crowley's, and they locked eyes for a few seconds before the angel spoke: « Crowley, I did notice that, even though you're _naturally_ a little more on the... gloomy side, you seemed rather displeased during our phonecall yesterday. » _No, not like that,_ Aziraphale scolded himself. He inhaled deeply to start again. « My friend, is there maybe something bothering you that you'd like to tell me about? » His brow furrowed when, to his surprise, there was no sneering on Crowley's side. Instead, the demon's handsome features darkened. « It's nothing, really » , Crowley replied with a forced smile that turned out to be more of a grimace. Aziraphale tilted his head to the side. « Are you sure? » , he asked. « Because, Crowley, you know you can tell me if there's something going on, right? You're my best friend, after all! » Aziraphale thought he could hear Crowley gulp. Twice even. Finally, there was a nod, followed by two plates and two cups of coffee being placed in front of them.

In the silence that ensued, our demon became perhaps the first creature of Hell ever to enter what 21st-century-humans like to call the _friend zone_. There are two reasons for this:  
Firstly, inhabitants of the underworld don't have many crushes.  
And secondly, they don't tend to have friends, either.  
Crowley therefore proved to be an extraordinary demon in the sense that he had both. Although he would have gladly not been special. It appeared to sting rather painfully.

Hence, when Aziraphale, after they had both finished their meals, proposed that they should go for a walk in the park to digest, Crowley was quick to decline. « 'm sorry, angel. I've got some business to settle with the florist. » , he half-lied _(he was really just going to buy some fresh soil to bring his lilies-of-the-valley as an apology)_. He drew his wallet out of the inner pocket of his suit. Aziraphale did the same. Crowley reacted by vaguely waving his hand. « I've got you » , the demon said, « it's my good deed for the day. » The fair man flashed him a smile so embarrassingly wide that it almost made Crowley wish he hadn't offered. « It's so lovely! » , Aziraphale chimed. « You're picking up my language! »

That, Crowley decided, was really the last straw. No matter how handsome or charming his angel was, he wasn't going to let Aziraphale get away with _that_. And so, at lunchtime, when Aziraphale returned to his bookshop, there was a group of primary school children with their teacher, all looking for various copies of old and rare children's books.


	4. Killer Queen

Crowley only owned one car, and he most certainly didn't drive a hot pink Citroen. Aziraphale was sure of it. And yet, there was one parked right next to his dark angel's black Bentley. Aziraphale squinted his eyes and walked through the front door, then down the stairs to Crowley's flat. As he drew the spare key Crowley had given him, his gaze fell onto the shoe rack next to the door. Unless Crowley had decided he missed being a nanny, Aziraphale was rather certain that he didn't wear hot pink stiletto heels, either. Carefully he put his key into the keyhole and unlocked the door. From the hall, he could hear his best friend's muffled voice say something to a, judging by the tone of the response, female speaker. He quietly slid down the hallway, through the greenhouse, and came to a halt in front of Crowley's office door. Carefully, Aziraphale raised his fist and knocked on the door twice.

The black office door swung open, and the angel was greeted by a mildly surprised demon, who mumbled something along the lines of _«wasn't expecting you, I have a guest»_ and motioned for the fair man to walk in. Aziraphale stepped through the door and immediately found himself hit by a wave of sickly sweet perfume. The wearer of said perfume was seated opposite Crowley's office chair. She was a young woman of no more than twenty-eight years. Her straight black hair was in a high, slick ponytail, which was still long enough to reach the hemline of her backless and hot pink dress. Upon hearing the visitor enter the room, she had turned towards Aziraphale so that he could see her face. It was tan and beautiful and bore Jewish features: high cheekbones above hollow cheeks, a small and pointed nose, dark eyebrows. She parted her lips, which were painted in the same bright colour as her dress, to a smile, and rose to her feet.

« That's my friend Aziraphale. » Crowley also stood up and now felt the obligation to introduce the two to one another. Aziraphale offered the young lady a hand to shake. « And this » , Crowley resumed, « is... » He turned towards the young woman. « My name's— » she paused as if to think about it for a second; « Agatha. Pleasure to meet you. » « The pleasure's all mine » , Aziraphale replied to the young woman, about whom he still only knew exactly one thing: that she was definitely _not_ called Agatha. « _Agatha » ,_ Crowley went on to explain, stressing the name, « is the chairperson of Personalised Advertising – you know, that tall office building next to the British museum. » « Mr. Crowley and I » , 'Agatha' took over, enthusiasm audible in her rasp voice, « will be working together to revolutionise online advertising. » Something in Aziraphale told him that _revolutionising,_ in this particular case, meant _getting rid of that little cross on the top right of online advertisements, or perhaps of the 'skip' option for video ads._ Maybe even a virus that cracked down ad-blockers. He smiled coolly as he thought of the most recent show on his Amazon prime watchlist, _Positive Foreshadowing_ , and returned a sharp nod.

The woman kept on smiling and excused herself politely. Once her muffled footsteps seemed far enough away in the direction of the bathroom, Aziraphale turned to Crowley. « Didn't know your definition of _'settling business with the florist'_ was bringing home a pink– » he practically spat the word « _tare_. » Crowley harrumphed, taken aback. He could have suspected that Aziraphale disliked advertisement companies, especially the kind that was full of lies and therefore the only kind he would have any business with, but it took a lot to make his angel insult somebody. « I'm getting a job, isn't that what you'd call _morally correct_? I even sat in a waiting room before my interview. With ten other applicants. No miracles. No magic. I'll be spending _earned_ money from now on. Well, at least some of it will be earned... but don't try to make me believe you make enough only with that bookshop of yours! » Crowley tried to speak in a condescending manner, and ended up resembling a hurt puppy, in Aziraphale's opinion. His features immediately softened. « Alright, your win » , he murmured with an apologetic smile. « I would think so » , Crowley cried out, still sounding hurt.

Aziraphale was about to comment on Crowley's commendable change in attitude when a pink cloud re-entered through the door. With a swift motion, the cloud picked up her black, soft-looking leather handbag and turned towards the gentleman in black. « That's all, then » , she declared proudly, « I'll be seeing you on Monday two weeks from today. It'll be a pleasure working with you. » « Likewise » , Crowley returned, a tad less sarcastic than one would've expected. He straightened his tie; Aziraphale noticed that it was one of Crowley's nicer ones, made of fine purple fabric, which he rarely wore unless the occasion demanded it. The two of them shook hands, and certainly-not-Agatha turned towards the gentleman in the cream suit. « Have a nice day » , she said, shaking his hand, too, and Aziraphale returned the greeting, a tad less warm than the demon was used to. Crowley picked up her expensive-looking black fur coat and helped her into it. « I'll see you to the door » , he offered, going ahead. The lady and, a little further behind, Aziraphale, followed. Crowley opened the front door and waited for his guest to slip into her stilettos. She was quite a sight, he had to admit, with all that pink and patches of black on her person.

« Goodbye, then, Mr. Crowley » , Aziraphale heard the woman say in her rasp voice. « Goodbye, Agatha » , the angel heard Crowley return sternly. Aziraphale turned around, thinking that he would follow him back into the flat, but when he turned his head again, Crowley was still standing there, waiting as his guest walked up the staircase, her heels clicking on the marble tiles. He followed Aziraphale back into his flat once his new boss was out of sight. « Alright, that went well, don't you think, Aziraphale? » , he chimed once the door was closed. There was no response. « Aziraphale? » Crowley pursed his lips. He was certain that his friend had walked back into his flat. With quick strides, he walked towards his office door and swung it open. Nobody. There wasn't anyone in the kitchen, either. Crowley even looked in the bathroom and, as a last resort, peeked into his bedroom, half expecting his angel to be fast asleep and snuggled into a pillow, but both rooms were empty. Which meant, a puzzled Crowley concluded, that his friend had miracled himself out of his apartment. This was highly atypical demeanor for our ethereal friend, who would choose a good walk in this weather above many things.

Somewhat worried, Crowley walked over to his phone and dialed Aziraphale's number. The phone rang three times. Then, there was a clicking sound; it told Crowley that Aziraphale had indeed miracled himself back to his place. And he had just declined Crowley's call.


	5. No One But You

Arizaphale, apart from being an angel and a bookshop keeper, was a true English gentleman. And as such, the first solution he had come up with when faced with an upsetting situation was a good ol' cup of Earl Grey. The second solution Aziraphale had thought of was slightly less composed and involved a pillow, a second pillow, and an ungodly amount of tissues. If anyone had entered the bookshop at that moment— a rather unlikely possibility, granted, but let us suppose someone had— they would've been greeted by a low wailing sound from upstairs, interrupted only by the occasional suppressed sob. Well, almost only. At one point, the landline had rung, and Aziraphale had quickly picked up the receiver just to slam it down again. It had probably been Crowley anyway.

He cursed his best friend under his breath, then cursed himself for it. Aziraphale's grip on his pillow tightened even more as memories from earlier that day resurfaced. He replayed, for possibly the fiftieth time in the past hour, images of a demon helping a beautiful young woman into her coat. The pink of her dress underneath it stung in his eyes, or maybe it was the tears doing the stinging. The excitement in Crowley's voice as he proudly declared that he was to work alongside the young lady echoed in his head. Aziraphale was certain that Crowley wasn't actually looking forward to sitting in an office all day. _He'll probably be doing quite the opposite of sitting,_ Aziraphale bitterly thought to himself. What exactly that meant, he couldn't have told you, which was likely a way of self-defence his brain had come up with. Anyway, it wasn't like you couldn't get a lot done sitting down, too. _Like kissing_ , Aziraphale thought. _Crowley for sure knew how to kiss sitting down._

During a brief moment of sobriety between the sobs, Aziraphale began to wonder when Crowley had started taking an interest in humans to begin with. As far as he knew, his demon had always proclaimed himself free of all kinds of love, but most of all the romantic kind, _thank you very much._ And even though the angel had never believed that Crowley didn't feel anylove _at all,_ he would have agreed that his dark angel wasn't one to fall in love romantically. At least until now.

As our angel sat on his bed, wiping his eyes, he heard a car pull up to the parking lot in front of his bookshop. Aziraphale didn't think much about it; had he been less emotionally drained and more present, he would have likely recognised the familiar smooth sound of a car whose tires never seemed a day from new, and the to him well-known footsteps that slendered over the floor of his bookshop. This way, however, it came as a complete shock to both Aziraphale and Crowley when the latter stepped in front of the open bedroom door and spotted his angel hunched over, staring at the demon in surprise through swollen eyes. Aziraphale's breathing hitched in his chest. Crowley just stood there like frozen for what seemed like an eternity, and the two men kept looking at each other, completely motionless. « Oh lord » , Crowley finally whispered. _Oh lord indeed,_ Aziraphale thought bitterly.

Then, just as he thought he couldn't be any more surprised, his best friend stumbled over to his bed and, sitting down next to him, pulled him into a tentative hug. Aziraphale's arms slung around Crowley's neck, and the latter tightened their embrace ever so slightly, though he was still cradling his friend as if he feared that the angelic body might break. Crowley could sense Aziraphale's warm breath on his neck, mixing with the cold of his tears. Carefully, he began stroking the angel's back in large, soothing circles. Eventually, Crowley felt Aziraphale's tears dry. His breathing slowed, and Aziraphale pushed away from Crowley's body and leaned into the soft pillow he had positioned at the end of his bed. He averted his eyes, ashamed.

« _Angel— »_ Crowley's voice was soft, barely a whisper, but it made every fiber in Aziraphale's body ache; « what's going on? » « Nothing » , Aziraphale murmured, despite everything in him wanting to scream. He regretted it instantly as the demon clenched his jaw. « _Liar_ » , Crowley now growled. Aziraphale fought hard with his instinct to discorporate right then and there. Instead, he let out a deep sigh. « It's just... » He hesitated, but then decided he had little left to lose. « I don't like it. You courting Agatha, I mean. Because I really like you, Crowley » , Aziraphale explained quietly. At that, a dry laugh escaped Crowley's throat. « _Courting? » ,_ he repeated incredulously, shaking his head. Aziraphale simply nodded, resuming as if he hadn't heard his friend: « Of course. I don't imagine she actually likes you back, though. At least not in a healthy way. I mean, maybe she does... » He was rambling now, words escaping his lips faster than his own brain could process and filter them. He barely noticed his friend shaking his head. « You think I'm _courting_ Agatha? » Crowley felt like laughing and screaming at once. « Don't be ridiculous, Aziraphale. I have no interest in humans. Or any other ethereal or occult beings, for that matter. I thought you knew. » He paused, mustering up some courage. When he resumed, his throat felt incredibly dry: « If I were to court someone, I'd court no one but you, Aziraphale. »

Aziraphale's gaze shot up. _Had he really just heard what he thought he had?_ A part of him wouldn't believe it; it called him ridiculous for hoping the impossible. But another, much more stubborn part of his brain had decided to go along with it. It made him respond: « Likewise. Obviously. » A long and awkward silence ensued. Aziraphale heard Crowley's Adam's apple pop up and down, and when he looked and saw the fear written all over his friend's face, he imagined that Crowley was seeing something similar. Finally, Aziraphale couldn't stand the silence anymore. « It's only natural, isn't it? » , he began, talking fast and quietly. « I mean, with the two of us knowing each other for so long and everything, isn't it normal that we'd catch feelings for one another eventually? » He was rambling now, not really taking notice of what he was saying until he had said it. But suddenly, it hit him. It knocked his breath out of his chest as he realised what he had just implied. Aziraphale stopped breathing. The seconds ticked by, his chest constricted around his heart. Finally, he saw Crowley open his mouth, and he braced himself for his words as best as he could.

It wouldn't have been necessary. « It would seem so » , was what Crowley breathed out, and next thing they knew, the space between them disappeared and they slung their arms back around one other and lips met lips. It was sweet, and tender, and _oh-so-short_. This time, it was Crowley who pulled back. He looked at his angel with wide eyes that were asking _'What now?',_ and Aziraphale quietly responded: « I don't know. » And he truly didn't know, couldn't imagine how this would develop from there on. But for now, in any case, he made a little space next to him on the bed, and Crowley sat down, head on Aziraphale's shoulder and left hand on the small of his back. And they stayed there, until many hours later, Aziraphale suddenly jumped to his feet in horror:

« Oh, dear! I completely forgot my cup of tea! »


	6. Play the Game

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I bet you thought, at the end of the last chapter, that that was it, didn't you?  
> Only fluff and happiness from there on...  
> Unfortunately, I'm not big on letting the characters enjoy happiness for too long...  
> So here's some angst to ruin the domestic bliss!

Aziraphale rarely had guests. This happenstance had to do with him preferring to be served food, rather than serve it himself, and was occasionally helped with a miracle or two if someone was too persistent. Hence, it came to both Aziraphale's and Crowley's surprise when, on that Saturday afternoon, Madam Tracy appeared at the foot of the stairs to Aziraphale's suite with a basket of biscuits in one hand.

Crowley had patiently sat with Aziraphale and Madam Tracy for a while. He had politely listened to her stories about the Rajits' cat knocking over her flower pots, and had even helped himself to one of her handmade strawberry biscuits _(they weren't that bad, really, if you saw past the thick layer of bright pink icing she for some reason felt the need to add to otherwise perfectly fine biscuits)._ Then, just in time before Madam Tracy could bore him to discorporation with talk about her last some twenty clients _(for the seances, mind you),_ he had politely excused himself and escaped to finish his book.

Through the closed door, the demon listened to his two friends chattering about this and that, and he picked up occasional talk about rare oriental fairytales, alternating with stories of long dead relatives who suddenly expressed heated opinions on the newest iPhone. This in particular was greeted with a laugh so heartfelt and sweet by Aziraphale that Crowley had to lie flat on his back for a good ten minutes to calm his breathing. He hummed a little to himself, closing his eyes and reveling in his memory of the past three hours...

He had kissed Aziraphale, but that hadn't been all. Aziraphale had then returned the kiss, excitedly, eagerly, and it had almost knocked Crowley off the bed— _« Do we need to add a lattice to the bed now, darling? » ,_ Aziraphale had teased. Crowley had huffed and then shut him up with a languid kiss. But that hadn't been all, either. They had, in between small kisses, and long kisses, and sweet kisses (and a few more heated ones, too), talked seemingly endlessly about sweet nothingness, and sometimes even about the two of them. « What now? » , Aziraphale had asked more than once, and the looks of concern that had hushed over his face in those moments had tugged at the demon's heartstrings and made him wrap his arms around his angel tightly enough that he could feel the latter's fast heartbeat. Crowley sighed, a feeling of bliss washing over him, engulfing him entirely. Humans would've said that he was in the seventh heaven, but Crowley had been up there (albeit a long time ago), and this was _so much better._ The demon opened his eyes again. From inside the living room, he could hear Aziraphale, who seemed to be doing most of the talking now...

« When did all of this happen, again? » , Madam Tracy asked. « Earlier today » , Aziraphale replied. Then, with a little huff, he added: « I can't believe he bought that! These days, they'll buy anything. » Crowley pricked up his ears. Had it been anyone else saying those words, he would've assumed that the speaker had just tricked his customer to buy into a really unfair deal. But this was _Aziraphale!_ He sat up on the sofa, now curious. Madam Tracy spoke again; her voice was softer than that of his angel's, and Crowley had difficulty with picking up what she said. He rose to his feet and walked up to the closed door. He heard Aziraphale laugh again, this time more clearly. « _Love_? » , the angel exclaimed incredulously. Crowley frowned. « Don't be ridiculous! Of course it's not real; it's all lies! » Then, a little quieter, Aziraphale added: « And he bought all of them... »

Outside the room, Crowley thought someone might have fired a bullet right through his guts, and he was pretty sure, even without looking, that where his stomach and heart had been before, there was now an empty hole. A dull pain shot through his veins, leaving them throbbing like they were on fire. The demon struggled to stay on his feet. « Alright » , he mumbled, angry at his voice breaking, « two can play this game. » And with that, he was gone.

Inside the living room, Aziraphale toyed with his last copy of _Beautiful Indices of Love,_ a book with a bright pink cover that positively _screamed_ 'trash teen novel'. He generally was against selling his books, but not even the angel that Aziraphale was could say 'no' when offered the opportunity to get rid of those ones once and for all. _But why on Earth,_ the angel wondered to himself, _would anyone buy seventeen copies of such tosh?_


	7. Liar

The normally black and white residence was filled with bright orange and red. Crowley's flat was ablaze.

Well, more specifically, it was the houseplants that had been set on fire, their moistness making the flames cackle angrily. And if one had strained one's eyes enough to see through the blazing flames, one could've spotted the cause of the inferno. He sat on a shining black leather chair, cheeks wet but eyes already dry, and he was staring at the flames, daring them to go out before each and every plant was burnt to nothing but ash. The fire fount it best not to chance it.

The screaming of the plants filled Crowley's ears, but it did little two drown out the noises inside the demon's brain, which weren't even really noises as much as they were waves of hellish pain, right from the ninth circle of Down There. The only difference, he felt, between him and those being punished in Hell right now, was that he, Crowley, had a bottle of tequila at hand in which he could drown himself and his pain. _Noah, what was your flood compared to this?_ He took a last swig, looked at the empty bottle for a while, thinking about sweating the alcohol out again, and shrugged. _Whatever._ Crowley miracled a second bottle to the desk, pondered for a moment, and finally sat down on the floor with it in his hand. Better not bump his head right before his vacation, he sort of sucked at medical miracles.

 _So Aziraphale had played him._ Crowley still didn't have the faintest idea as to why. He figured it was rather unlikely that pure malice had motivated the angel; he suspected some sort of a deal with Heaven. He vaguely recalled Aziraphale expressing his interest in archangelship once in 1670, when they had run across one another in Versailles, both of them coincidentally on their ways to settle a deal with Louis XIV. Aziraphale had proudly declared to Crowley that he had just sent in his application. A week later, the angel had gone under, and the demon hadn't seen his friend again until the mid 17th century— he suspected that Aziraphale had spent the years in between sulking and pursuing a career as a monk in Spain, but something in him told him it was better not to ask. Perhaps Heaven was bored and found it amusing to watch one of theirs stab a demon right through the heart– repeatedly, probably with a blunt instrument. _When thou hast shattered the demon's heart a thousand pieces, thou shalt rise to th' highest ranks of angel sort._ Or something similar. A cutting sharp laugh escaped the demon's throat, which felt like it was on fire. _Here goes nothing,_ Crowley thought. He downed the entire bottle in one go, swayed for a moment, and then his head hit the floor. Everything went black.

When he opened his eyes again, he found himself in a dark room, lying on what he supposed was his bed. He lifted his head slightly and immediately regretted it. With a groan, he let it fall back onto the pillow, but something caught his eye; something, or rather someone, was sitting on the edge of the bed. Aziraphale noticed Crowley stirr and leaned forward, a glass of water now in his hands. He brought it close to the demon's lips and whispered: « Don't move, it's me. You better drink some water, though. » Crowley didn't reply, but he obediently lifted his head again and sipped from the glass. His head felt like someone had set his skull on fire– the special kind, mind you. _This was becoming unacceptable._ Crowley tried to miracle the hangover away, but something seemed to push against his miracle. « First, you explain what this is all about. » It was Aziraphale's voice that said those words, but Crowley almost didn't believe it. The gentleness he usually spoke with had been replaced by a sharp, menacing tone. _He definitely wouldn't._ The demon's head throbbed painfully.« Alright, I will » , he mumbled, « just make this stop. Can't even properly talk like this. » Aziraphale shot him a pitiful glance, but shook his head. « No, Crowley, » he replied firmly, although his voice was already softer, « you can't trick your way around this one. Just tell me what this is all about, and you'll be fine. »

Crowley groaned. A part of him wanted to scream, to growl, to ask _« Of all people, why did you have to choose me to hurt, Aziraphale? » ,_ but it was kept at bay by whatever little self-control there was left in the demon. He wouldn't allow Aziraphale that satisfaction. _Besides,_ Crowley feared, _if he did lash out at his friend, it might drive the angel away from him for longer than he could bear. Maybe even forever, now that he would rise in the ranks of heaven._ Instead, Crowley took a long and deep breath. He shut his eyes; he couldn't look at Aziraphale's face, not under these circumstances, not when he knew what he was about to do. Crowley silently prayed, for the first time in a _very_ long time. He prayed that, against all odds, somehow, he would be able to come to terms with the decision he had just made. Then, he opened his mouth, eyelids still tightly closed, and told the lie:

« I shouldn't have kissed you » , Crowley lied, his lips and mouth dry. « I was under the impression that tempting an angel might get me out of Hell's bad books » , he lied, aware that Aziraphale had stopped breathing. « I was wrong, of course— it didn't. I'm sorry, Aziraphale. » Crowley opened his eyes, trying hard to keep the tears at bay, just for a little more, just until Aziraphale stormed away, as he undoubtedly would; and then he could spend at least a hundred years crying until the angel came back, or, if he was unlucky, he wouldn't come back at all. The demon gathered all his strength left and looked Aziraphale in the eye. The blond man was watching him, wide-eyed and even paler than normally. After half an eternity, Aziraphale replied. « You're my friend » , he said, « and I forgive you. » Crowley looked down to see if someone had dropped him in a pond of holy water.


	8. You Don't Fool Me

Crowley cursed— Hell, Heaven and the entire world in between those two. _An_ _idiot,_ that's what he was. Aziraphale had done precisely what the demon had expected him to do. « I'll just have you know that it's alright if you'll want to blow off the vacation » , the angel had kindly, but unsurprisingly, offered. And Crowley had meant to agree, he honestly had. He never should've accepted the invitation to Barcelona in the first place, but it was alright, he still had the opportunity to cancel the plans. And at least, now he didn't have to fear making Aziraphale more angry than he already was. But what he had stuttered, with a smile that was entirely too _kind_ and had felt venomous on his lips, were the wrong words, because they were true: « I'd... I'd love to go. That is, if you still want to come along. » And Aziraphale had wanted to.

And so now, instead of being left in peace to drown his sorrows in strong alcohol, Crowley, for one and much to his grief, was sober, and for two, was driving him and the angel to the bookshop. In the car boot of the Bentley, there was a black suitcase, of the sort that has far too many safety locks on it and would, if it belonged to anyone else, be eyed suspiciously at the check-in (Crowley's suitcases were never given a second glance, of course), and next to the suitcase, a suitcase-sized empty space. Inside the car, two men sat in silence, apart from the sizzling of the air between them. The Bentley rolled up to the parking space reserved for it. Neither had spoken for the entirety of the ride.

Crowley got out of the car and wordlessly walked up to the entrance with the angel closely behind him. He held the door open: « After you. » « How kind of you » , Aziraphale attempted to joke. The words tasted bitter on his tongue, and Crowley's lack of response felt like a punch to the guts. He trod through the door, and he and Crowley walked up the stairs to his flat. A large, empty purple bag lay readily at the foot of the angel's wardrobe. Aziraphale snapped his fingers, and the bag zipped open and close again. « Ready? » , Crowley asked from the corner of the bed he had sat down on. « Just one more thing » , Aziraphale murmured, « but it might take a moment. Would you like some scones? There are some on the coffee table. » The demon wasn't really in the mood for food, but he wanted to get out of that room and it was as good as any excuse. He thanked the angel as he walked out.

Crowley sat down at the table, gloomily staring more through than at the scones. But it wasn't long before he heard Aziraphale's steps tripping down the stairs. The demon lifted his head and noticed that his friend's arms were behind his back, as if he was hiding something from him. He looked at Aziraphale's face expectantly. « I have something » , the angel croaked, his voice not quite obeying him. Crowley raised an eyebrow, and Aziraphale brought his arms forward and revealed a small flower pot. In it was a white lily— Crowley almost laughed at the thought that Aziraphale was holding a flower straight from the Bible. When Aziraphale didn't speak, he cleared his throat and asked: « What's that, then? » « It's for you, actually » , the angel replied, blinking nervously. When ten seconds had passed and Crowley still hadn't reacted, he added: « It's a gift. » Of course, the reason why Crowley had fallen into silence was not that he hadn't gotten that, but quite the opposite; he was very aware that the white lily was a present, he knew his angel well enough for that. Crowley was at loss for words, so he helplessly looked at his friend for entirely too long. Eventually, Aziraphale broke the silence: « I asked Newt to come on Monday and Thursday to water it. I initially thought we'd bring it to yours first so he could take care of the others, too, but— » he hesitated— « but I don't think there's any need for that anymore. » The angel risked a glance at Crowley, whose eyes looked glassy. « _Why?_ » , the demon croaked. Aziraphale tilted his head. « Well, you sort of set fire to them » , he replied softly. Crowley cut him off: « No. I mean why did you... » He hesitated. « What I meant was, Aziraphale, » , he tried again, his voice shaky, « why did you bother to get me a flower? » « Oh. » Aziraphale huffed and averted his eyes from his friend, thinking about the right words to say. When he spoke, his voice was quiet: « I do love you, Crowley » , he murmured, « even if you don't love me back. »

Out of all the reactions he may have expected, he hadn't prepared for anger. And yet Crowley, judging from the look in his eyes, was undoubtedly angry. Aziraphale flinched as the demon narrowed his eyes, and held his breath as Crowley growled: « I don't get it. Why would you still lie? You already did it, didn't you? » « Did what? », Aziraphale interrupted him confused. « I'm sure you got archangelship for tempting a _demon_ » , Crowley spat back in a way that made Aziraphale back away two steps. Then, the meaning of the words hit him. « This is ridiculous, Crowley! » , he cried out. « Where on Earth did you get that from? » Crowley rolled his eyes. « Give up, Aziraphale, I heard you. _The love's as fake as it gets._ Even Madam Tracy seemed surprised you'd do that. »

Aziraphale didn't say anything; he just blinked. Once, twice. Then, finally, he burst out laughing. « You have to be joking, Crowley! », the blond man shouted. _Was it really all that simple? Had it all just been a misunderstanding?_ He didn't dare to hope quite yet. « I was talking about _books,_ my dear. Truly rubbish teen novels, to be precise. I'd been waiting all year to finally get rid of them, and suddenly, this man came in and purchased all twenty copies. You... you didn't actually think I was talking about... us? » Now, it was Crowley's turn to be at loss for words. In fact, he felt like someone had sucked them out of him with a vacuum cleaner, _those blasted things._ « Oh. » Aziraphale nodded. « Well said, quite rightly so. But » , he was quick to add, « it's alright, dear, if you don't want things to change. I mean, we don't have to... »

Somewhere, there was definitely an ending intended for that sentence. However, when Crowley reached out to Aziraphale and cupped his warm cheek in his hand, when he leaned towards him and pressed his lips against those of the angel, and when Aziraphale took Crowley's hand with his own, caressing his palm with one finger, that ending got lost and replaced by a new beginning. Only this time, they both swore to themselves, things should work out properly.


	9. Lazing on a Sunday Afternoon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember that one of the tags for this fic is "Fluff"?  
> Yeah, this chapter's finally delivering...

« Aziraphale? » , Crowley mumbled and turned in his angel's lap. Aziraphale hummed in response, gently scratching Crowley's scalp with one hand. « Aziraphale? », the dark angel tried again. « What is it, my dear? » , Aziraphale asked in a soft voice. Crowley stirred and sat up straight, his back cracking quietly, reminding him that he hadn't moved in the past two hours. Even though they weren't touching anymore, the angel could feel him tense a little. « It's just » , he hesitated, « it's just, I want to make sure you really want this. » He followed his words with a vague hand movement. Aziraphale couldn't help but roll his eyes, but he made sure to look deeply into Crowley's mesmerising golden irises at the end of it. « Of course I want it, Crowley, » , he whispered, leaning a little closer, « and I've been hoping for quite a while, actually. » The dark-haired man trembled slightly at the intensity of the moment, though his body relaxed. Aziraphale took that as an invitation to brush his lips against Crowley's ever-so-softly. The latter sighed at the contact and parted his lips slightly, pressing them against Aziraphale's. _Time to take some initiative,_ Crowley supposed, __it's really been a long time.__ The angel almost jumped when a hand rested against his inner thigh, just shy above his knee. Once his composure was somewhat restored, he responded by delicately raking two fingers over Crowley's hip bone, and he felt the demon trembled, unable to suppress a soft moan. Wanting to make sure he didn't overwhelm Aziraphale, however, Crowley tentatively pulled away. Much to his chagrin, though, the angel took this as a sign to break away from him as well and sit up straight. « Do remind me, why did it take so long for us to get to this? » , Aziraphale chuckled, causing the demon's heart to feel like it was metamorphosing to become a hummingbird. He paused his thumb, which he had been running through the angel's soft hair right above his ear, to think. « Because we're idiots, that's why » , Crowley finally mumbled, earning him a huff from Aziraphale. Though when he looked, worried he might have insulted his angel, the expression on Aziraphale's face couldn't be described as anything but fond.

After a while of comfortable silence, the blond man suddenly rose to his feet. « I'm going to have a bath » , he declared to Crowley. The demon half-heartedly grunted something about Aziraphale using up all the hot water for the shower, but knowing that he could simply miracle it warm when he needed it, neither of them really gave it a second thought. _Although it's not quite the same when you_ know _the water's only hot through your willpower,_ according to Crowley, but that seemed like too petty a reason to argue. Hence, without further ado, Aziraphale walked up the stairs, and Crowley made himself comfortable by sprawling out on the couch even more. _Too soon._ « Darling? » , it came from upstairs, and Crowley was as glad as ever that no one was looking as he grabbed the backrest to prevent himself from falling off the couch. With more nonchalance than was probably appropriate given his reaction a moment ago, he called back: « Yes, angel, what's the matter? » There was no response, which Crowley presumed was his friend's _(well, boyfriend's, really, but when you've been one thing for six millennia, it can take a little time to adjust to suddenly being another thing)_ way of telling him to come and see for himself. A little disgruntled, Crowley rose to his feet and walked up the stairs, then took a turn left, heading to the bathroom. He knocked and waited for Aziraphale to ask him to step in. Once he'd heard the angel's affirmation, he put his hand on the doorknob and turned...

A cloud of warm mist hit Crowley, concealing anything but the basic outlines of the bathroom, next to the back wall of which an Aziraphale-sized figure sat in a bathtub with his back to the demon. The only reason why Crowley knew that Aziraphale had his back turned to him was that, just shy of two meters from the door, large white wings had unfolded and were languidly fluttering up and down. The demon vaguely wondered if angels always took baths with their wings out— they hadn't back in his days in Heaven, as far as he could recall— and he must have wondered out loud, because he heard Aziraphale giggle as he replied: « Well, no, but it certainly feels nice to have them unfold on the earthly plane every now and then. » Crowley nodded in silent agreement, then realised that the angel couldn't see him, and agreed out loud. He paused for a second, wondering why again he had been summoned to the bathroom, though he certainly didn't feel like complaining. « You called for me » , he eventually said, a question despite the grammar. Aziraphale turned his head. « Ah, yes » , he responded, a tinge quieter than Crowley was used to, « I was just wondering if, uh, if, uhm » « You were wondering if... » , Crowley offered helpfully, in case his angel had forgotten the beginning of his own sentence. Aziraphale forced himself to breathe out slowly; no point in being shy about it, really, he told himself. « Well, you see » , he tried again, slowly moving his hand to balance a fine comb on the edge of the bathtub, and then spluttered the rest all in one breath: « I was just grooming my wings, and there's this spot right at the shaft that I can't reach, and I was wondering if you could lend me a hand. » _There you go._ Then, as an afterthought, he added: « I'll do yours, too, if you let me. »

By the time three seconds of complete silence had passed, Aziraphale started to wonder whether all of this had perhaps been one of his horrible ideas that liked to creep up on him every now and then and meddle with the otherwise perfectly peaceful life he was leading on Earth. By the time he had counted five seconds of silence, he was about to turn around and apologise to his friend, _« Sorry, funny idea really, I don't know where I got it from, must be getting old, eh? »_ At that very moment,a warm hand pressed against the angel's spine between the shafts of his wings, and all words of apology scrambled together and Aziraphale's breathed them out in the new form of a soft and short « _oh._ » Aziraphale noticed Crowley suppress a chuckle as he reached for the comb, but then the laugh faded and turned into tranquil silence again. The demon's hands worked minutely, starting at the primaries of this right wing, which weren't so much in need of a brush as they had to be straightened. Then, instead of moving on to the secondaries, he took a stride over to Aziraphale's left wing, earning himself a content hum by his angel. « Don't like imbalances, do we? » , he jokingly muttered, and Aziraphale nodded in reply. Once all primaries were sorted out, Crowley let his hands glide softly towards the secondaries, and alternating his fingers with the comb, he loosened some feathers here and there that needed to be plucked out, then leaned over and did the same on the other side. After some time, Aziraphale felt his well-manicured hands come to a stop. « Is everything alright? » , he asked. In the quiet of the room, the angel could hear Crowley swallow. He resumed without giving an answer, working down to the tertiaries and soft down right at the shaft of the blindingly white wings. Crowley gave them a brush and watched some of the down float into the bathwater. « They're so soft » , he murmured, so quietly that Aziraphale almost felt guilty about being able to hear him. When he turned around, there was an expression on his dark angel's face that the blond had never seen before and that he couldn't read. Crowley watched Aziraphale studying his face and heard a hundred silent questions. « Sorry » , he answered all of them. The demon reached into the cupboard for a towel, handed it to his angel and left the room. His clothes were dampened by the humidity in the bathroom and he was trembling, but he wasn't cold.


	10. Barcelona

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know...  
> 'Barcelona' isn't technically a song by Queen, but by Freddie Mercury and Montserrat Caballé...  
> But it's the only song that includes any travel destination. Ha!  
> You'll forgive me, I hope?

Aziraphale turned in his seat and his head rolled onto his demon's shoulder, and if the angel wasn't so _insufferably_ _sweet_ when he was asleep, Crowley might have encouraged turbulences just strong enough to make the pear juice in his little plastic cup swap onto Aziraphale's lap. This time, the redhead ignored the itching in his hands and instead attempted to stretch his legs, but groaned in frustration when there just wasn't enough legroom! Aziraphale was woken up by a noise coming from the clearly distressed passenger right next to him. His boyfriend was staring at the seats in front of him in a way that strongly suggested that he wished they weren't on the plane, and was almost ready to ensure it. The angel decided that, for humanity's sake, he had to intervene.

Crowley yelped. « Oi! Did you just kiss me or scold me? » « Both » , the angel replied smugly, adding _scoldingly_ to his mental list of _ways to kiss Crowley that he likes._ The list, so far, had consisted mostly of words synonymous with _long,_ but Aziraphale was determined to expand it in all directions. The ginger huffed and pushed his sunglasses further up his nose. « I can't believe that we _literally_ have wings, as well as the ability to miracle ourselves to any place we like, and we're _still_ stuck in a metal box somewhere in the sky » , he complained, realizing that he sounded anxious rather than annoyed, but unable to do anything about it. Aziraphale scrunched up his nose in sympathy and clicked on the monitor. The timer on the top left of the screen read _Time until Arrival:_ _39 minutes._ « Who invented airplanes anyways? » , Aziraphale wondered out loud, earning him a groan from the demon. « Definitely not my people » , Crowley grunted, « or else they'd be much larger and have windows not the size of _goddamn_ tea saucers! » This earned him a nudge on the shoulder by his boyfriend, who muttered something along the lines of « don't blaspheme, dear. » _Oh, the irony!_

After 39 more minutes of endured bickering, the plane touched ground, and Aziraphale and Crowley excitedly made for the conveyor belt. Aziraphale almost exclaimed _« Luck of the Devil! »_ when his and Crowley's suitcases were the first two to arrive, only that it wasn't, of course, the Devil's luck, but rather the luck of Crowley, that had ensured it. _Although, maybe it had been someone else's luck entirely..._ The two of them weren't less fortunate with getting a cab, either, but then again, what Southern taxi driver wouldn't stop when a dark, handsome man in tennis shorts and John Lennon glasses and an equally handsome, albeit paler man wearing what could only be described as the most pretentious hat in Europe, waved at him? Tourists like that were bound to tip generously, after all.

Indeed, the ginger drew a nice little sum out of his slim purse at the end of their ride, and after the driver had helped them unload their bags, Crowley and Aziraphale strolled up to the reception, where a brunette was lazily drinking iced coffee through a straw. « Welcome to Barcelona, sirs, do you have a reservation? » , she slurred in the voice of someone who's said the same sentence so often that they've forgotten that it wasn't just going to say itself. Crowley glanced sideways at his angel. « We do, » Aziraphale assured her, « reservation's by the name of Azira, that's an A-Z-I » « Yes, yes, I've got you » , the receptionist interrupted, hitting a few keys on her computer harder than necessary. She paused for a moment and pursed her lips. « Sirs, I think there's been a mistake » , the brunette finally resumed, in the tone of someone who was willing to decapitate anyone who dared to suggest that it may be her fault. She pointed at something on the computer screen that the two couldn't see. « Look, you're reservation is for a king-sized bed. Double-bed. Do you want me to change it to two singles? There's plenty of rooms vacant, it's October already, after all » , the woman asked. Aziraphale offered a polite smile. « No, there's been no mistake at all » , he assured her politely, choosing to ignore the cold stare that suddenly replaced the previous indifference on her face. She handed him the keys without speaking another word.

Aziraphale tugged at Crowley's hand, urging him to come along. Even through his sunglasses, he could feel the anger in the looks the demon shot in the direction of the receptionist. He was suddenly filled with worry that the lobby might spontaneously catch fire. « Come on, dear, she's not worth it » , Aziraphale whispered, relief washing over him when the elevator finally arrived and he could drag his boyfriend into it. He heard Crowley sigh and felt his hand finally relax. « I suppose you're right » , he snorted, then paused for a second. « Quick question, angel. Didn't you say the hotel was booked solid and that's why we're getting a double-room? Not that I mind, of course » , he added with a cheeky wink that had the angel feel like he was just a few crêpes too heavy for his weak knees. « 't was 'n excuse » , Aziraphale mumbled, brushing crimson. He tried to cover it up by quickly placing a peck on Crowley's cheek, and then the elevator arrived at the third floor and the two of them stepped out. 

Aziraphale couldn't help grinning like a madman even after he unlocked the door to their room and each had unpacked their things with a snap of their fingers. The angel was particularly curious to see what style of clothes a demon would bring to a certainly rather un-demonic holiday destination, so he couldn't quite resist walking over to the wardrobe after they had unpacked. While pretending to straighten out some creases on his finer shirts, Aziraphale let his gaze wander slightly to the right, where Crowley had hung his clothes. The first thing he noticed with delight was that, amidst some black, brown and red, there were some colours he imagined were way out of the demon's comfort zone— a bright purple tank top, for instance, and something in the far back that he couldn't quite make out that quickly but really hoped would be what it looked like, namely a pair of yellow bathing trunks with a splash of green that suspiciously looked like palm leaves on one side. _Fingers crossed._

The closet doors shut again with a snap of Aziraphale's fingers, and he turned towards the bed again, where a clearly distressed demon was trying to turn into a snake again, at least judging by the way he was wriggling around and trying to reach the middle of his back with his arms. The angel bit his lower lip and quietly cleared his throat. « Can I help you in any way, dear? » , he asked softly. Crowley's head snapped up in surprise. After a few unnecessary blinks, the demon caught himself again. He gave a quiet laugh and shook his head. « It's nothing » , he said quickly, « it's just this itch I can't quite scratch. I'm increasingly convinced it's not on this plane, actually. You know. » The made a vague gesture that reminded Aziraphale more of pigeon wings than angel wings, but the blond let it slide. « I could still help you with that, you know? » , he instead reminded his demon. The expression that appeared on Crowley's face for just a second made Aziraphale's insides squirm; he looked... _pained_. And then it was gone. The demon opened his mouth and closed it again. Aziraphale frowned. « Yes, my dear? » , he addressed it as he stepped closer to the bed. With a deep sigh, Crowley, once the very best (and first, as far as Earth was concerned) liar, original tempter, and all that, admitted defeat. The opened his mouth again, this time determined to be honest. « Truth be told, Aziraphale, I'm not entirely sure how I feel about you grooming my wings » , he muttered, more to himself than to the angel. He tried to avoid the other's eyes as he continued, which proved more difficult than before because the blond was now sitting on the bed next to him and staring at him with those _goddamned_ steel blue eyes of his. « The thing is, angel, you might be a little surprised. They're not... » he hesitated, drawing a shaky breath he didn't technically need. « They're not quite what they used to be before, well, you know, the Fall. » Crowley's voice got quieter, ended up barely above a whisper, and trembling too, and it didn't help that Aziraphale was now softly running his thumb over the back of the demon's hand, although it certainly felt nice.

« Hush now » , the angel commanded, his voice steady and serene. He used his free arm to gently nudge Crowley forward so that he himself could kneel down right behind him. « I don't want to hear any of that, dear. Now, why don't you get off that shirt so I can help you preen what must be feeling like a bird's nest rather than wings by now? »


	11. Breakthru

Slowly and painstakingly carefully, Crowley pulled his black polo shirt over his head. He wasn't breathing, but neither was Aziraphale, so it didn't feel all that awkward not to do it. The demon clenched his jaw, slid forward on the bed, and then let his wings materialise. The feeling of the air hitting them caused Crowley to audibly gasp. There was no backing out of it now.

Neither of them spoke for a while; Crowley, because the voices inside his head were being excruciatingly loud and he feared that if he opened his mouth, he might accidentally let some of those terrors slip; Aziraphale, because this felt like shaky ground and he wasn't sure what his dark angel needed to hear. Then, after what felt like half their lifetime, Aziraphale found his voice again. « May I? » , he breathed, his hand hovering uncertainly between the demon's shoulder blades. Several seconds passed before the answer came back. It was quiet, and shaky, but in a way it sounded resolute: « Yes, please. »

The primaries were long and soft and _gorgeous,_ the most shiny black Aziraphale had ever seen on feathers, and all of them were perfectly in place, just like he remembered them being during Armageddon and at each of the rare instances before. But then the angel's hands moved down to the secondaries, which were generally the most difficult to reach on one's own, and Crowley almost jumped under his touch. Under the angel's hands, ruffled black feathers, many of them bent in the middle, floated onto the white sheets. The skin revealed underneath was bright pink, and where several feathers had fallen out, burn scars stretched across Crowley's wings. « That's where... » , the demon began, but then a sob interrupted his sentence and Aziraphale's hands were out of his wings and in his hair, smoothening it out, caressing his head. « I know, dear » , he murmured, « I know. » But he didn't put his hands back, not until Crowley told him that he could.

When Aziraphale did eventually resume, brushing out the tertiaries with a comb he miracled into place, Crowley commanded his eyes to stay dry through shear furious willpower. Admittedly, the angel did a great job at hiding his surprise, using his quick hands to try and distract Crowley from his reaction. Nonetheless, the way his fingers tensed, his quiet gasp, and the fact that his breathing hitched in his chest afterwards, didn't go unnoticed. Aziraphale slowly placed the comb on the bed beside him, so slowly that Crowley thought he might have loaded it with warheads. Crowley knew that the angel wouldn't need it anymore— his grooming session would end earlier than Aziraphale had likely expected. Where there should have been a bundle of young down feathers on each wing, there were two fist-sized scars.

Aziraphale waited for the seconds to tick by sluggishly, as if the demon had stopped time again and this was the calm before another storm. « You're finished » , Crowley found the voice to assure him, and proceeded to dematerialise his wings. _They had already stirred up more than enough emotions in the past fifteen minutes to last him a year,_ _if you asked him._ It was only once the shiny black feathers were no longer between them that the angel recovered his ability to speak: « Crowley, dear, I... » Aziraphale scrambled for the right words, his brain frantically grabbing some that were too big and some that were too small for what he was trying to say. He felt his upper lip begin to quiver– _bloody Hell, not now,_ the angel nearly swore. He forced himself to exhale slowly. « I didn't know » , he finally settled for. It didn't feel right, but then again, nothing would. The demon didn't reply, but he reached for his shirt and pulled it over his head and Aziraphale couldn't remember that any of Crowley's shirts had ever looked as much like a suit of armor as this one did that day. He scrambled off the bed, grabbing his sunglasses from the shelf near the door and pushing them on his nose. Without turning once, Crowley made for the door, because now the room seemed too small and his skin too tight and he could have sworn that he was in his snake form again and desperately trying to shed a skin that just wouldn't come off. Behind him, the demon heard Aziraphale jump onto his own feet. He couldn't bear to look his boyfriend in the eye. « I'm alright » , he lied, and « I just need some air » , he added truthfully. The angel did not follow him out that door because he felt like he had been filled up to the brim with lead. 


End file.
